


Sing You Sinners

by Phytomania



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: 1920s, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prohibition, Roaring Twenties, is this fandom still alive, michael pitt is super pretty okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-06-22 01:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phytomania/pseuds/Phytomania
Summary: The war is over, and she’s done her duty. Whisked away by her new American husband to the Land of Opportunity, Madelon Martel can finally have her piece of the good life. The good life in Atlantic City, however, comes with its own caveat...





	1. Parade of the Wooden Soldiers

James Darmody didn’t much believe in anything anymore, but he had seen enough to know that he was in Hell. It had almost been three years, but he had seen enough suffering, enough agonizing death,enough of those fucking corpse rats to last a lifetime. 

After he had seen several of the Jerry’s grenades land in the trench with him, he had thought it was all over. Now it was his turn to die.

When he came to in the same trench he had went down in, it took him a few moments to realize he was still alive. Many other infantrymen still lay where they fell, but some of his men had appeared to at least make it over the crest.

A few of his squadron surrounded him; and it was immediately clear to him that none of them had survived the blasts; the trenches blown out with enormous craters. Daugherty, Adams, Lockwood…all people he had come to know, his brothers-in-arms reduced to nothing but more (partial) bodies in the mud. Lockwood had landed partially on top of him; the bottom half of his face reduced to a gaping, raw bloody mess.

 

Already he could see the rats, startled awake by the explosion and eager to feed on the fresh meat. He was no stranger; often seeing them scurry around and over his feet. He made to stand, but found he couldn’t; one of his legs buckling uselessly under him.He chanced himself a look at his leg, and immediately regretted it. It had been reduced to nothing but a mess of meat and bone; the mud around it stained an angry red.

He fought to sit upright; his hands slipping uselessly in the mud. He was forced to use the corpse to assist him in sitting upright; a task easier said than done.He nearly vomited when his elbows sunk into Lockwood’s stomach and quickly flipped the man over to get a firmer hold.

By the time he managed to get himself into a funk hole, rats had already gotten to one of the bodies; a particularly fat one latching gleefully onto Tillman’s cheek. His bayonet was gone, so he wrenched Adams's out of his limp hands. The rats hadn’t moved any closer, but he knew they were waiting for him to close his eyes, and that’s when they would strike. 

He kept his eye on them as he reached into his pack for bandages. He found a small roll, and used that to do what he could.He was no medic, but he hoped that would last until he was found. He sat awake; unable to keep his eyes off of them.

 

Night gave way to day, but he still was not found. It didn’t matter. He had already made his peace.  
He was in the light throws of delirium now; too afraid to close his eyes and see the ghosts of his comrades; their sunken eye sockets churning with maggots.  
The sound of yelling close by jolted him back to life.Germans, he thought. Reflexively, he gripped his rifle. If they were coming to kill him, then he was damned ready to take some with him. But they weren’t Germans.

Two men, carrying a stretcher had jumped into the trench; using the bodies as stepping stones to avoid sinking into the mud.

Spotting James, one of them shouted something in French and they rushed towards him. He felt relief as he found two poilus peering down at him.  
“American,” one of them said to the other in a heavily accented voice.  
They lifted him onto the stretcher; and he tried not to scream as his broken bones rubbed against each other.

The French soldiers navigated single-mindedly through the trenches, seemingly blithe to the continued fighting around them. It took them a few hours to reach a casualty clearing station before the poilus dropped him off. By then, he had lost his sense of reality; drifting in and out of consciousness. He is barely aware of something (someone?) messing about with his leg. He loses his grip completely when they give him morphine for the pain and falls into the deepest sleep he’s had in a long time. His last memory was of being loaded onto a freight car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	2. When the Yankee Doodle Learns to Parlez Vous Francais

James came to on October 16th, approximately three days after surviving his leg surgery and five days from leaving the front.  
Upon awakening, he found himself for the first time in a long time, to be in a real bed; blankets tugged snugly around him. The early morning light shown through the windows of the building; casting soft orange rays into the massive room.  
Women dressed in blue gowns swayed between the aisles like spectres, tending to patients. It was very serene and quiet.The environment was eerie; at least in his opinion. He could hear himself think, and that was not a good thing. He tried to sit upright; his torso nearly burning with pain.  
“Careful,” a woman's voice chimed, placing small hands on his back and arm to pull him upright. Startled, he turned to find the hands belonged to VAD nurse, dressed in the customary blue gown and white apron.  
She was a bright young thing with wisps of strawberry blonde hair that had escaped her nursing cap, and eyes an unusual hue between blue and gray.  
She smiled politely when he turned to look at her.  
“M’sieur Darmody, it is good to see you are awake,” she said with a thick accent he couldn’t immediately identify. "How are you feeling?”  
He grunted, pulling the blankets away from his legs. His right leg was a mass of scars and shiny new skin. He tried to move his leg, but cried out loudly in pain when he found he couldn’t. She soothed him.  
“That is to be expected,” she said as she pulled a bottle of medicine from her apron pocket. She pulled out a spoon and began to measure.  
“What’d they do?” He asked, and she paused, clearly debating on whether she had the right to tell him.  
“There was a lot of shrapnel in your leg. I am not completely sure, but it is possible you might need additional surgeries.” James said nothing and only nodded grimly at the news. She briefly pressed her lips together, clearly unsure if she should say something, before abruptly changing the subject.  
“The doctor suggested you ought to take some pain medicine.” Reaching into her apron pocket she produced a small brown bottle; uncorking it and pouring some onto a spoon.  
“I won’t argue with sound advice like that,” he said and obediently took the medicine she offered him; wincing at the bitter taste.  
Satisfied she picked up the clipboard she had set aside and flipped through a few pages until she presumably found the one with his information.  
“The doctor has given you strict orders M’sieur and we will be here to make sure you will follow them.” She looked up at him expectantly. When he nodded, she continued.  
“While you are not forbidden to move around, under no circumstances are you to use your injured leg. The doctor suggests these next few days you remain inside, but eventually, it will be good for you to take some time outside. You are to take pain medicine as needed, and follow your meal regiment."  
“Yes ma’am.” At this she flushed; a light pink blush lighting up her cheeks.  
“You needn’t call me that.My name is Miss Martel.” She then fluffed his pillows; angling them in such a way so that he was more comfortable, and tucked the blanket in around him.  
James noted with some amusement that she had tucked him in better than his mother ever did.  
“There we are…”  
And with one last smile she was gone; skirts swishing behind her.

~. . .~

 

As it turned out, Miss Martel was right. As soon as it was possible, he was to be shipped back to America, to the Walter Reed Hospital in Washington.  
He’d outlived his usefulness he thought bitterly, but said nothing.

Now, all he had to do was wait. He had parted with his his chocolate bar days earlier in exchange for books. Two, to be exact. Moby Dick and a condensed form of the Odyssey.But as he was trapped inside a hospital in the middle of nowhere, there was precious little to do but read and he finished them in no time at all, forcing him to re-read them over and over.

It was on his fourth re-read of the classic when he saw Miss Martel. It was now mid-October and the days were slowly getting cooler. Though many had stayed inside, to Jimmy it was the perfect time to be outside, especially in the early morning. There were few people out, save for a few nurses and other wounded soldiers.

Setting himself up in a deck chair, he cracked open his book about to begin when he spotted her.  
With the exception of the occasional redressing of his leg, he had seen hide nor hair of Miss Martel as she bustled round the hospital at all hours of the day. She appeared to be in deep thought, her hands clasped behind her back when she spotted him.  
He couldn’t help but notice how she perked up when she did.  
“Bonjour, M’sieur Darmody,” she greeted as she walked towards him, elongating the syllables in his name into dar-mo-dee.  
He found he liked the way she said it.  
“Bon-jour,” he replied, wincing at his Americanized tone. Nonetheless, it coaxed a laugh out of her.  
“A noble attempt,” she said with a smile before her gaze fell to the book in his hand.  
“You enjoy Melville?” she asked, nodding to the tome.  
Jimmy shrugged. “Not much else to read around here."  
“I’ve noticed,” she said sympathetically. “A shame, really.” her eyes lingered on the book for just a moment longer. Before Jimmy could say anything, she clapped her hands.  
“Well, I suppose I shall leave you to it, M’sieur. Don’t stay out for too long.” She bid him farewell, and she was gone again, although this time her departure brought him a sense of dismay.

 

When the sun rose high, James made his way back inside. There, on his bed was a new book. ‘War of the Worlds’ by H.G.Wells, the gold-embossed cover read. He opened the book, and on a tiny slip of paper was written, ‘take good care of me’. It was signed by a ‘Madelon Martel’ in perfect schoolgirl script.  
Madelon.  
Her name was Madelon.

And so began a tradition of sorts.Whenever she could, she would somehow manage to procure books for him. When she didn’t, she would try to teach him French. Try as he might, his French was atrocious and Madelon, sweet as she was, was not afraid to let him know, though not unkindly. He could only get a few words right, like cherie and belle (words he knew would make her blush).

She soon found herself seeking him out during her free moments; no longer speaking of plots but of more personal matters. 

They spoke about their backgrounds and family; though she was more forthcoming about hers. She was Belgian, originally from Brussels. Her parents had died when she was young, leaving her older sister to raise her.Eventually, her sister married a rich businessman and they all moved to France.  
“Paris?"  
“No, Lyon.Paris isn’t the only city in France you know,” she said playfully.  
She had lied about her age to join the VADs, and her sister had been furious at first, but eventually she conceded. Madelon had always had her wrapped around her finger since day one, she said with a laugh.  
James wasn’t so open with his family. He couldn’t, with the fucked-up life he’d had. He told her about growing up in a seaside town, and some lighter memories but he didn’t go into much detail. Although they barely knew each other, he had the strange desire not to disappoint her. But she didn’t pry, and he was grateful.He tells her to call him Jimmy after that, and he is given permission to call her by her first name. 

Their first date, if he could call it that, was spent walking the grounds; him adjusting his gait and her walking patiently beside him, her hands primly clasped together.  
His leg, still weak gave out on him but she easily caught him; deceptively strong despite her size.  
He made a quip about falling for her.  
It was a terrible joke and an even worse pickup line. Even so, her lips twitched before she finally gave in.  
She threw her head back and laughed; hitting a beam of sunlight that that hit her face just right and made her eyes glow.

It was that moment when he fell in love with her.


	3. Fare Thee Honey Blues

At 11:00 am, November 11th,1918 the Great War ended.  
In cities and villages,civilians poured out of buildings and hit the streets; declaring victory.  
Yet in the little hospital in the middle of nowhere, the celebration was much more subdued.A slight murmur built up when the news spread, but nothing more. James supposed he should feel something, but he doesn’t. He can’t.  
The feeling of victory felt empty in his stomach.  
Some time after the news, Madelon visited him and sat at his bedside.  
She sighed heavily in the wooden chair; seeming to deflate.  
He found no words to say, so he offered her a smoke instead.  
“If you please,” she sighed.He had used his last match, however. She shrugged when he told her and leaned in; catching the embers of his cigarette.  
It was the closest they had ever been. From here, he saw the dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a faint scar at the corner of her forehead.  
In a moment much too short (for Jimmy anyway), she pulled back, taking a long drag of the cigarette.

“The war is over.” She said, sweeping her stray strands away from her face.  
Jimmy had never seen her so tired.  
“What now?” He asked her. She took another puff; exhaling a curl of smoke through the side of her mouth.  
“I am not quite completely sure. I haven’t been told much. I still have duties to finish here, but you’ll be going back to America soon,” she said, and Jimmy raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Before the end of the year."   
Jimmy snorted, exhaling through his nose. “I don’t expect much of a welcoming party.It’s just my Ma and me.”  
“No one else waiting at home for you?” Madelon asked, and Jimmy gave her a crooked smile.  
“Nah. Although I’m carrying a torch for a particular nurse here. You might know her.Pretty, speaks French?”  
“You are such a clown, Jimmy.” He pulled a smile out of her, anyway.  
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small box, wrapped in plain paper and tied with a hair ribbon.  
“Here, a little something for you.I wanted to give this to you for Christmas but…” she lifted a shoulder as she handed it to him. Before could open it, she was called away. She sighed, rising and stubbing out her cigarette.

“Drat,” she grumbled. “I’ll visit as soon as I am able, amour.” She pressed her lips to his cheek and with a swish of her skirts she was gone.   
When he opened the box, he found a pair of silver cufflinks with a light blue enamel centre that almost matched the colour of his eyes.

He used his charms to ask the other nurses to tell Madelon he was looking for her. He didn’t see Madelon for the better park of a week. He finally saw her again on a Friday. She looked as though she had ran; her chest was heaving. “Is everything alright? The others told me it was urgent.” He shifted to the edge of his bed as he made to get up.

“Yeah, you wanna go for a walk?” her face dropped and she couldn’t stop herself from smacking his arm.  
“I thought it was an emergency,” she huffed, placing her hands on her hips. When he offered nothing in response save a smile she huffed again and helped him with his crutches.

She led him outside, to her favourite spot. An old willow tree; its trunk swollen and gnarled with age but with decent cover and privacy. When they were both seated, she pulled yet another package from her pocket. Somehow, she’d gotten her hands on a chocolate bar. She wouldn’t say how and he didn’t ask.His little smuggler, he called her and she blushed. She split the bar in half and they each took a piece.

He told her he wanted to ask her something, but she had to promise not to cry. Mustering up the nerve, he asked her to marry him beneath the large willow.   
Her response, to say the least was enthusiastic.  
To her credit, she only cried a little.

 

They married in early December in the hospital chapel, days before he was scheduled to ship out. It was a small wedding; with a few of her friends at the hospital. They exchange simple bands, the best they could find at the time, but neither of them were concerned.  
His leg ached something awful but he refused to use a cane, especially during the wedding pictures. He tries not to think about it too much.  
All he can think about is being able to finally kiss her.

The day of his departure, he made promises to her. He swore to have a home for her; one where she can see the sea. He promises her she won’t want for anything. They’re grand promises, but he was determined to keep them. Madelon said nothing to his declarations, only kissed him sweetly and told him she’d be happy even if they lived in a one room flat.   
She blew kisses and waved until the train disappeared in the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> Please rate/let me know about what you think!


End file.
